


Creatures of The Night

by HaveAGoodeDay



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum, American Horror Story: Hotel
Genre: Crack Crossover, Dark Crack, Dubious Consent, F/F, Ghost Sex, Mind Manipulation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 14:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveAGoodeDay/pseuds/HaveAGoodeDay
Summary: Mary Eunice checks into the Hotel Cortez after Sister Jude sends her out to California to escort a new patient back to Braircliff,  but she finds more than just pillow mints and an ice bucket in her room.





	Creatures of The Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavllnll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavllnll/gifts).



> Purely crack fic, basically just porn. Read at your own risk after checking the tags.
> 
> The Non/Con tag is simply because Mary Eunice is... ahem... influenced out of her own control. There is no graphic rape, though consent can be considered dubious.

The rough fabric of the hotel sheets under Mary Eunice’s finger pads was hardly comforting in the strangeness of the unknown environment surrounding her, the orders, from Sister Jude still fresh in her memories. _Simply bring back Briarcliff’s newest charge,_ one who was all the way across the country. Jude couldn't leave the hall of the institution, her charges in need of her strict rule. _Me though,_ the blonde fists the fabric of her habit in her fingers, sitting gentle on the squeaky mattress as she thinks, _I’m not very needed anywhere._

 

The Hotel Cortez - a very intimating place for a young, naive girl used to quiet prayer and the simple construction of Braircliff’s brick walls - it hurts her eyes with large, golden decor and modern art decor designs. The church had paid for her stay ahead of time, and Mary Eunice curls do her toes in the stained carpet below her.

 

The patient being moved, a young actor who’d had a meltdown on the set of his next big break, so Jude had told her. He’d be ready for transfer from the hospital tomorrow, and she looks at her rosary on the nightstand. _It’s only one night,_ Mary stops herself from curling in the duvet, from acting like a child and foolishly hiding from the art on the walls. _God is everywhere, I should not be fearful._

 

It might not be the bumpy, spring hardened bed back in her room at the santiuraim but she does lay down. The veil on her head stops her blonde curls from spilling over the pillow, eyes closing as she toes off her shoes. The heels click on the ground as she pushes them off the mattress, two quiet _thumps_ on the floor. Blue eyes flutter shut, not to sleep but to rest all the same. _I might not be at home, but I’m with God always._

 

“Don’t you look like a priest’s wet dream?” The voice at the foot if her bed, the lack of her door opening, it makes Mary Eunice sit straight up. Her eyes widen like frying pans, staring at the women who entered without a sound to announce her presence. Blonde hair - not unlike her own, but frizzled and crimped hair that sticks out from her head in a dark rooted halo. The cigarette held between her lips dangles loosely.

 

“Who are you?” Mary Eunice’s voice raises in octaves, her knees coming up to her chest so she can hug them defensively. “How did you get into my room?”

 

“Sweet cheeks, this is _my_ room.” Her lighter flicks to life with a click; flame dances across the end of her smoke. Mary flinches when the metal device is thrown on the bed next to her as the cigarette begins to burn. _Her lipstick is all smudged,_ the stranger’s coat gives her a large form, hovering like a threat in cheetah printed fur. _She seems sad, and angry._ “Not that I’m complaining too much, you are a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

 

Whoever she is, she comes forward, leans in to tap her finger to the metal of the cross hanging off Mary’s neck, “The name’s _Sally.”_

 

Sally - it’s not very fitting for her. _Sally,_ Mary Eunice imagines, is not as dark as the woman in front of her, eyes not sulken in with coal colored makeup. She doesn’t know why it makes her a little sad, as Mary thinks she had to have been a _Sally_ once. Nobody is born with such despair; eyeliner in dried streaks down her cheekbones.

 

“I haven’t seen a nun in here before,” Sally states, her nails trail across the material of Mary Eunice’s habit. Her shoulder tingles under the touch, “It’s funny, for _you_ to be dressed like that in such a Godless place.”

 

 _Godless place,_ the sink in the bathroom drips as she rolls the words over. It’s not possible, in her rational thinking. Mary Eunice must convey her confusion, Sally laughs at her eyebrows drawing together, the way her nose crinkles. Unease settles across Mary’s shoulders like the weight of a jacket. “I don’t think I’d like to stay here, anymore.”

 

It’s a combination of many things - the smell of tobacco smoke in the room, Sally shrugging off her coat, exposing needle bruises in her arms, the whispering of the voices of unseen creators. Mary Eunice’s eyes well with tears and Jude’s voice bites her in mind, _stupid, stupid, stupid. You had one job, and you still couldn’t do it without fleeing like a dog with its tail between its legs._

 

Legs, _legs;_ Mary hiccups on her breath as she notices Sally’s hand on her knee. “You’re going to leave me?” her voice cracks, Sally’s own eyes mist over. They darken though, like black marbles staring Mary Eunice down as her speech heightens in volume, “You’ll just leave, like that, without thinking about _me?”_

 

The hand on her knee lashes out, grabs Mary’s jaw and pinches into the softness of her cheeks as she holds her head still.  “Come on, Sister,” Sally’s other hand comes to tug at her veil, causing Mary Eunice to yelp as her hair is pulled harshly. The black clothing comes off with her fingers brushing over Mary’s bangs, rustling the strands until they frizz. “You have so much love to give, right? Isn’t that the whole _gig_?”

 

Mary Eunice, her face screwing up tearfully as Sally’s thumb brushes her lips, she thinks she _loves_ all God’s children _equally._ So, even as this woman scares her, holds her hard enough to make her skin turn white with pressure, she tells her, “I do. I love you. God loves you, too.”

 

Sally laughs, right in her face. The obnoxious noise has her jumping, grabbing for the bed clothes. Her breath smells of scotch - like an uncapped sharpie waved under Mary Eunice’s nose - her heart hammers in her chest. Fear wraps itself around her ribs in constricting vines, making her breath short with fright. _Please,_ Mary mumbles a prayer, the quiet words strung together so quickly the words blend together in a mess of syllables.

 

She does _try_ to move, feet pushing against the mattress in a weak attempt to escape the closing presence of Sally, her butt scooting up until her back hits the headboard. It meets the solidness of the wall, and the support does not make her any bolder. But Sally crawls up after her, the other woman’s dress bunching up as her thighs straddle Mary Eunice’s own.

 

“Maybe you need a girl to show you a good time, loosen that ring a little bit.”

 

She does yell, a quick and indiginfied noise, when Sally kisses her. The stickiness of the woman’s lipstick coats her own - drags across the sensitive skin around her mouth until it tints the area purple-ish red. The scream - it makes it easier for Sally’s tongue easily lick Mary’s teeth. _This isn’t happening,_ the nun pushes at the stranger’s shoulders, _this is a nightmare._

 

“Off.”

 

The _second_ unknown voice to enter her room does come on the ends of the door swinging open - the click of the lock turning back into place as it shuts behind the newcomer. Sally, she relents at the firm command, like a dog climbing off of Mary Eunice - and the bed, to kneel on the floor beside it, her cigarette still in hand. The ashes grow dangerously long, ready to fall off.

 

Without Sally blocking her view Mary Eunice’s blue eyes fall on the woman who stopped her; platinum blonde hair, long legs that are exposed by her slitted white dress. The curls on her head are piled high, only a few little twists falling out of the style to frame her face. _Her face,_ Mary Eunice feels a little in awe, of how pretty this woman is. Her green eyes, framed with thickly applied black liner, the bore into the very pits of Mary’s soul. Strip away her habit, wipe away the veil of God.

 

“Scaring the guests again?” She speaks, her voice is tinted with wealth, her tone drips with class. It’s directed at Sally, who grimaces at her question.

 

“ _Some_ of us can’t leave the god-damn hotel, _Elizabeth._ ” Sally bites - she takes a drag of her smoke, then stamps the butt into the bed cover, burning the fabric. “Don’t you have someone better to drink, or do you have to ruin all my fun?”

 

“Did you plan on sewing her into the mattress?” Elizabeth, it must be her name, it’s what Sally addressed her as. _Sewing me into the bed?_ It makes her pulse drum in her veins, and she again wishes she’d never of gotten on that plane and flown out. Elizabeth comes closer, but unlike Sally, her approach calms the blonde nun. A haze clouds her thoughts, muddles them like colors mixing together. One finger drags on her jawline, outlines her rounded face, “She’s much too pretty for that. Or did you want to pump her full of your supply, until she simply didn’t _wake_ back up?”

 

“Unlike you I can’t _make_ someone want me,” Sally speaks with such sadness, a sort of desperation, “Sometimes, all they need is a little liquid courage, and they’ll be willing and ready, _baby._ ”

 

Sally glares at Elizabeth - brown eyes holding a plentiful variety of feelings, feelings Mary Eunice wouldn’t be able to decipher even if the fogginess of her head was absent. _They are both pretty,_ she thinks. Though Elizabeth has classically beautiful looks, her full lips and the dip of her hips in that dress, Sally too has her own charm - a darkness that shrouds her aura in mystery.  

 

 _You’re too curious for your own good,_ Sister Jude has told her plenty of times, _It’ll get you in trouble one day._ Mary Eunice wonders how Jude is right, about it all, about _everything._

 

“Then by all means,” Elizabeth waves a hand at Mary, a long gesture that pairs well with her knowing smirk. Her long, sharp nails curl along with her fingers as hooded eyes challenge Sally’s own bitter ones. The dim light, filtered yellow by the lampshade, it casts golden shadows across Mary Eunice’s face; the silhouette of her nose.”Warm her up for me.”

 

It feels like someone ringing a dinner bell, calling the hounds to the meal - except there is no hound, there’s Sally pouncing on her, and Mary Eunice is the _feast._ Her mouth falls open, a squeak of a breath knocks from her lungs as if Sally’s weight on her pushes it out. Somehow though, her hands remain limp, _I don’t want to stop her._ It’s as if her very desires are bewitched, Mary isn’t even sure she remembers her prayers, all she knows is she _likes_ how Sally nibbles her earlobe. _Why don’t I want her to stop?_

 

Hands pull at the fabric of her habit, the black material giving way to pale, freckled skin that Sally lays open mouthed kisses, sucking bruises into the same skin her rosary has laid against countless times. Mary’s head tips to the side, her thighs squeeze together as a foreign slickness dampens her panties - Elizabeth is there, watching with a steady, lustful gaze. She’s sat down, reclined in the armchair. The nails on her fingers draw pink lines into the flesh of her thigh, exposed from her dress laying open.

 

“She smells like the inside of a damn church.” Sally comments, dragging the tip of her nose down, into the valley of the nun’s breasts. Inhaling the fragrance - the softness of flowers, with droplets Chrism oil beading on her petals. Her habit, bunched around her waist, the scent of incense is ingrained into the fabric like cigarette smoke clings to Sally’s own garments. It’s horribly addictive, listening the warm life of Mary Eunice breathing beneath her. “Come try it.”

 

“I’ll watch,” Elizabeth replies.

 

 _Watch_ she will - watch Sally’s knees wedge between Mary Eunice, watch two palms flatten on her inner thighs to pull them farther apart. The holy scent about her mingles with her arousal, making Sally’s mouth water. _What she wants to do with that mouth,_ God, the girl below her is like putty. Molding to her wishes. It’s all thanks to The Countess’s supernatural ways, but Sally only spares a glance at the other woman. The way she hikes her own dress up to press manicured fingertips against herself through black lace.

 

“Look at the mess you made.” Sally giggles - touches the stickiness of the nun’s thigh, her name still flashing on the check in papers, _Sister Mary Eunice Mckee._ The fittingness of the body trembling under her as a _virgin_ _Mary,_ all blonde hair and innocent blue eyes. Sally wonders, _how long would it take to take that out of them?_ Would she be prettier with the glint of sapphire darkness instead?

 

“Use your mouth.” Elizabeth suggests, her words wispy at the ends. “The poor girl is barely going to last a minute, you might as well make it _good._ ”

 

“You think she’ll taste good?” Sally challenges, licks her own teeth to get the lingering flavor of Mary Eunice’s sweat on her tongue, “She sure smells good, I could just _eat_ her up.”

 

“She can barely think, give her a break.” Elizabeth sighs, her hair moves as she tilts her head, smiling softly at Mary Eunice’s flushed face; the way the blonde’s knees jerk as Sally bites down her body. “ _Mary,_ ” Elizabeth sings out, like a hymn as affection drips off her lips to get her attention,  “Mary, hold onto her hair, darling.”

 

Sally laughs - really _laughs_ \- as fingers comb through her hair, curling in the crimped strands. The vibrations of her chuckles, they goes straight through the moist cotton of Mary Eunice’s underwear. It sticks to her uncomfortably, until Sally drags it down, shifting to let it stop below her knees. Sally lowers her face, breathes across the wiry, blonde curls, watching the jump of Mary’s hips.

 

(Elizabeth gasps too, when Mary Eunice’s lips part and a string of noises she didn’t know she could make tumble out one after the other as Sally licks at her.)

 

The vulgar _sucking_ sound of Sally’s lips fitting around Mary Eunice’s clit fills the room. The wall _thumps_ with Mary Eunice’s head banging back against it, the whine unable to be told apart from being caused by the pain of the impact, or the pleasure of the woman between her legs. It rattles the paintings on the wall, makes them shake on their nails along with Mary’s thighs around Sally’s head. The muscles quiver, trying to lock together in a desperate attempt to keep her mouth in place.

 

It feels like a bubble, filling itself with fire in Mary Eunice’s lower belly. Her fingers dig into Sally’s scalp, she bites her own tongue and tastes the copper of blood pooling across her tongue. _Tongue,_ Mary Eunice can’t think about anything _but_ Sally’s tongue. The warm wetness of it twirling around her down _there._ She feels about ready to explode, and fears she might. This feeling - the pressure making her hips cant up and her toes curl, it scares her.

 

What _scares_ her more though, is when Sally _stops._

 

Her eyes snap open, her chest pants heavily, and she looks down at Sally nibbling her thighs. A strange sort of urgency overcomes Mary Eunice, the flames Sally had brought to life and stoked, they lower in temperature as _whatever_ was cresting recedes back. Her hands tug to try and bring her back.

 

“Patience, baby.” Sally speaks into the flesh of her leg, finding great joy from Mary’s struggle. The hotness in her tummy falls, it burns lowly compared to a few moments before, and when she finally settles down. Sally goes back to kissing her center.

 

Surely the people in the next room (on the next _floor)_ they hear her scream, a sort of yelping sound that hurts her throat. Her ankles cross behind Sally’s back, digging into the other woman’s spine to drive her forward. Still though, when the burn gets unbearable, Sally halts her actions, draws back her mouth.

 

“Don’t be cruel, she’s going to faint.” Elizabeth - she’s nearly forgotten the platinum blonde was watching. _Watching_ has ceased, her hand dips below the band of her panties, the other palms her breast through her dress.  The sight of her touching herself has an effect on _both_ the other women, “Make her come already, we can always do it _again.”_

 

With the promise of _more_ to come, Sally’s ministrations increase in pressure, in the speed of which her tongue flicks back and forth, up and down. The very structure of the hotel around Mary Eunice feels like it doesn’t exist, like she will float right up into the blue hues of the sky above. _This must be what heaven feels like_ , the nun wonders, hears laughter, _did I say that out loud?_

 

Her breath hiccups, her stomach clenches - Mary Eunice comes for the first time with God’s name on the tip of her tongue and her hands dragging Sally away from the suddenly overly sensitive area she tenderly kisses with a parting gesture. Her eyes screw shut so tightly colors dance on the back of her eyelids, starbursts of glowing light on the black.

 

There isn’t a _way_ for Mary Eunice to catch her breath, there hardly is time. Because Sally sits back, but Elizabeth stands, her own fingers shining with wetness. The digits come up easily and she sucks them clean, green eyes set on Mary with a devilish smirk.

 

“ _My_ turn.”

 

* * *

  
  


Sally’s cigarette flicks to life in a small flame, her bare front presses against Mary Eunice’s sleeping one. Elizabeth flanks the girl’s other side, sweetly petting their play thing’s hair. The addict narrows her eyes, at The Countess’s tenderness.

 

“Isn’t this when you _kill_ her?” Sally’s monotone interrupts the quiet moment. She takes a long drag, blows the smoke up to the ceiling.

 

The room smells of sex, of perfume and incense. “Not this one,” Elizabeth traces the freckles on Mary’s nose, it makes it scrunch and she nuzzles up against Sally to escape the ticklish feeling, “She has a big part to play, somewhere. I can tell.”

 

Sally nods, a little confused. The maid’s cart rolls to a stop in the hall, bumping into the wall. Knocks sound at the door and Sally pipes up with mild interest, “Hey, what year is it?”

 

“1962.” Elizabeth answers. The maid pops the door open, she goes noticed, but of no concern to the naked women on the bed.

 

“Wait…” Sally purses her lips, “I don’t even exist yet.”

 

The maid collects the linens thrown off the bed, Mary Eunice snores softly, and Elizabeth assures, “It’s crack fic, _darling,_ nobody cares about the timeline.”

  
  



End file.
